


Children to Mother

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: Constance Marie Bridgforth [5]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5382386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sierra Baxter died on December 8th, 1990, when her husband Lewis shoved her down a flight of stairs and broke her neck. Her boy has a few dim memories of her, and only one clear one; her girl remembers her hugs.</p><p>Little do they know, there's still one living connection they have to her: Sierra's childhood best friend, Connie.</p><p>(EDIT: now with coldflash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children to Mother

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know Len and Lisa's mother's name, so I came up with one. Hope that's okay? Same for Len's birthday. I made him 37 years old because let's face it, Wentworth Miller does NOT look his age.
> 
> So I had to present a poem for a class yesterday, and I chose a Langston Hughes poem, "Mother to Son." And it got me thinking, which has lead us to this moment. Because the holidays are not just about celebrating, but remembrance.

Sierra Baxter was born a fighter. Screaming out from her mama's womb on D-Day, she defied her doctor's expectations and survived infancy with only asthma to look forward to in her life.

Her strong suits belonged in the math and sciences. Girl could even calculate what time it was down to the last second. Her skin color gave her pride, and she wore it like a badge of honor, unlike her parents who kept their heads low and their worries high for their baby. She had no siblings, but she gained a sister in a neighbor from across the street.

Next to that sister was a little girl named Annie Wilson. Sierra did what she could for her; when none of her efforts panned out, she vowed to herself that she'd never let anybody she cared about get hit again.

With her sister Constance Marie Maxson, she marched with Dr. King.

~*~*~

If there's one standing tradition between Len and Lisa, it's what happens on December 8th every year.

They don't have a set time, just in the afternoon thereabouts. Sometimes one of them's there for a couple hours before the other arrives, sometimes they meet up at the gates. But no matter what, they're there, wearing matching pendants of painted silver stars with fake diamonds at their center.

They could steal the world, but those necklaces are the most precious things they've got.

~*~*~

Constance found a fine man who called himself Teddy Bridgforth. Sierra was proud to call him brother.

The week after he's lynched, Constance found out about her pregnancy. She's got no money to take care of a baby; Sierra won't let her starve. Constance was a proud woman, but Sierra knew when to ask for help.

One of her white brothers stepped in. Didn't have much, Lewis, but he could scrounge up a nice batch of money in a pinch with Sierra's numbers and strategies.

Mickie was born a healthy baby, and Sierra shacked up with Lewis. They couldn't get married, but everybody they knew called them Mr. and Mrs. Snart.

Little Lenny came to them on December 21st, 1979. The winter solstice. By then, Sierra'd realized she was chained to this two-faced white man. But she was born a fighter.

~*~*~

This time, they meet at the gates. Neither of them speak, but Lisa takes her brother's hand and Len gives her fingers a squeeze.

They start walking. Path's ingrained in both of their feet. Their steps are not slow, nor are they fast. They're just walking, one foot in front of the other in perfect unison.

There are no flowers in their hands, no letters or drinks. Yet when they come to stop at the grave, Lisa sits on her heels like a child waiting for a story. She doesn't let go of Len's hand. Or maybe it's Len that won't let go.

~*~*~

Sierra defied Lewis at every turn. When he threw a punch, she'd throw one back. It was a sick game to him and another war to brave for Sierra.

In that day and age, even with the Civil Rights act, nobody would let her have her Lenny. Nor would anybody let her keep the little one in her belly.

She defended her kids like a bear watching over her cubs. Lenny was seven years old when his baby sister was born, and not a single bruise marred his skin. He had Sierra's eyes and curled hair, with a love for snow and math. Lisa looked more like her father, but Sierra loved her just the same.

No matter how much she didn't want Lewis' hands on her, Sierra would never look at her girl and not love her. She told her and her brother every day, "I'll love you even if the stars go out."

She gave them little necklaces to prove it. Cheap things, nothing compared to what Lewis stole, but filled with a mother's love. Lisa reflected hers against the lamp, her two year old self delighted at the pretty light moving across the ceiling.

Lenny got his first black eye the very next day. It took Sierra thirty-two seconds to storm downstairs and break Lewis' leg with a fireplace poker.

"You come near my babies again, Lewis Snart," she snarled, "I don't care if you send all your police buddies after me. I will break your other leg faster than your white ass can try t'get outta this house."

Lenny watched on the stairs. This would be the only clear memory he retained of his mother.

~*~*~

Something's changed. The siblings take ten seconds after Lisa's settled to notice it, caught up in the silence as they are.

There's a faded magenta notebook resting next to the gravestone. Lisa takes it with her free hand, opening it on the ground. The pages are yellow with age, but there's a fresh message written on the inside cover.

_Ri,_

_A lot's changed, honey. I would've written to you sooner, but I didn't find out you were dead until after Thanksgiving. After you ran off with that man, you never talked to me again. I still wonder why._

_I got myself a nice life. Wish you were here to celebrate with me. Remember how we lit firecrackers and tormented the Jones's every year? Fourth of July never meant nothing to us except for those firecrackers. Times are a bit better now, but sometimes I think I'll turn around and there you'll be, bouncing on your little feet at my porch, shouting "Connie, c'mon, c'mon! Jones's won't wait forever!"_

_Lord, but it's been a while. I hope these words reach you anyways. Maybe one day you'll tell me what became of you._

_Mickie's grown up strong. Has three kids and a wife who's sweeter than your mama's apple pie. And I got a new_ _grandbaby just a couple years back, but his daddies aren't Mickie. I love them like my own._

_Ain't that funny, Ri? Two men can get married now. Just like you said. Then again, you were always the smart one._

_I miss you, sweetheart, then and now and until I see you again._

_Your sister,_

_Connie_

Lisa's shaking. She hasn't cried at this grave in years, but then again, neither has Len. She flips the page, and there it is, in neat cursive:  _Property of Sierra Baxter, 1971_.

"Lenny," she breathes.

Len kneels at her side. Their knuckles are white from gripping each other's hand. The journal's well-used, but there's a page marked with a bright blue post-it.

In Connie's handwriting, there's another message:  _Did you ever have kids, Ri?_

Under it, Sierra's written in the center of the page,  _For My Babies_.

Lisa hiccups on a sob. They've never had something tangible of their mother outside of their necklaces, and it's...Len doesn't know how to describe the heavy feeling weighing in his gut.

 _For My Babies_. Addressed directly to them. The entry is dated a few months before Lisa was born.

_To Lenny and my baby: I don't know if I'll be around to show this to you. I don't know if you'll ever even see this, but on the chance you do, I'd like to share my favorite poem with you, by the great Langston Hughes. I hope that, if you don't remember anything I've told you, you'll remember these words._

_MOTHER TO [HER BABIES]_

_Well, [babies], I'll tell you:_  
_Life for me ain't been no crystal stair._  
_It's had tacks in it,_  
_And splinters,_  
_And boards torn up,_  
_And places with no carpet on the floor--_  
_Bare._  
_But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on,_  
_And reachin' landin's,_  
_And turnin' corners,_  
_And sometimes goin' in the dark_  
_Where there ain't been no light._  
_So [babies], don't you turn back._  
_Don't you set down on the steps_  
_'Cause you finds it's kinder hard._  
_Don't you fall now--_  
_For I'se still goin', honey,_  
_I'se still climbin',_  
_And life for me ain't been no crystal stair._

_I'll love you even if the stars go out._

_Mama_

Lisa's hand covers her mouth. " _Lenny_ ," she croaks into her palm, "Lenny, she--"

Len gently takes that hand and puts the journal into it. He responds quietly, not trusting his voice to go any louder: "Barry's out with Michael. Come on."

He lets go of her hand only to lift her back to her feet, guiding her to the cemetery gates. She hugs the journal to her chest and, for the first time since she was three, starts to cry.

~*~*~

Len unlocks the door, arm still around Lisa's back. They're barely into the house before Lisa throws herself into her brother's arms and wails into his black coat. He can feel the journal, their mama's journal with that poem, pressed between them as he sets his chin on top of her head.

He's supposed to be the strong one, the oldest, the protector. But he kicks the door closed, squeezes his eyes shut, and lets a few tears get lost in Lisa's hair.

"Leonard?"

The siblings give a violent start. Lisa gulps back another sob, but she turns her head away. She hates it when people see her like this, vulnerable and childlike. Len wipes away what he can from his own face before replying, "I didn't know you were stopping by, ma'am."

Constance emerges from the kitchen, confused-concerned. To Len's surprise, she's not wearing her usual light colors but a black ensemble like them.

"What's happened? Are Michael and Barry alright?" she demands.

Len swallows. "They're fine. Not that it's not a pleasure to see you, my sister and I--"

But Constance interrupts with a sharp, "What's that you're holding, honey?"

Lisa's fingers clamp on Sierra's journal. "No offense ma'am, but it's really none of your business," she replies steadily.

"If that's what I think it is, this is very much my business, Lisa. Did you two go to the cemetery?"

They're both so surprised, brother and sister whip their heads around to stare at Constance, ruined make up and all.

"Why?" Lisa asks.

Constance's face turns grave. Quietly, she nods to the journal and says, "I left that for my best friend. Unless that don't belong to a Sierra Baxter."

Len's lungs seize. His face remains impassive, but tense. "You knew Sierra?"

"Did you?"

Lisa glances down at the journal before replying, "She was our mother."

Constance takes a step back. Len's never seen her so shocked; she's  _shaking,_ staring wide-eyed at him and his sister as if they were ghosts come back to haunt her.

And then, her eyes light up with tears. "Oh," she says, hand patting her mouth, "oh, why didn't I see it before? Why, Leonard, you look just like her! And Lisa, oh baby girl, you've got her spark down pat. Yeah, you's Ri's babies alright--dear Lord, you's Ri's babies!"

She barely reaches Lisa's eyes in height, but she engulfs them in a hug as much as her arms can hold them.

It clicks: she's Connie.

Len hugs back first.

~*~*~

"Whatever you did today must've gone well," Barry tells Len that night. He grins at the raised eyebrow. "You just seem...I don't know, peaceful."

Len smirks at him. "Don't hold your breath."

Barry gives him a chaste kiss. "Nice of Constance to visit. I saw the apple pie she left," he says to Len's slightly surprised face. "Shame she didn't stick around. Michael loves spending time with her. Well, everyone does."

Len can't argue with that. "She said it's something she does around this time of year."

Barry hums, settling on Len's stomach. "Here's to hoping she keeps making them for us," he says, vocal chords vibrating in a purr when Len cards through his hair.

He doesn't see the little smile that brightens Len's face. "I think she will," he murmurs, "she seems to like us."

~*~*~

Sierra Baxter's last thought was a prayer:  _Lord, keep my babies safe. Protect that light in them. Take them home. And maybe, if You're feelin' extra kind, let Connie find them. She'll take care of them, Lord...I know she will._

 _A...men..._  

**Author's Note:**

> Constance's accent comes out when she's really emotional. She's from the South.
> 
> So I'm not gonna lie, I had to fight to not cry while I wrote this, which was in a public library. I don't know if I managed to do the same for you. Maybe it's just me, I don't know.
> 
> But anyways, thank you for reading :D


End file.
